


look at how he's smiling (i think he likes you)

by tjmcharg



Series: shut the fuck up reddie [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, IT Chapter Two Fix-It, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Prequel, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, but milder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24118057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjmcharg/pseuds/tjmcharg
Summary: “My husband and I got off to the smoothest start to our romance. I confessed my love to him and he punched me in the arm, called me an asshole, then promptly fainted from bleeding out.” - shut the fuck up trashmouth: the tour//Two years before Richie Tozier teased his husband and their group of friends on stage for money, a conversation about love started in the sewers and ended in the hospital. This is that conversation.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, implied
Series: shut the fuck up reddie [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740160
Comments: 2
Kudos: 144





	look at how he's smiling (i think he likes you)

**Author's Note:**

> this work is part of a series but technically you don't have to read part one first (but if you'd like to please do, im very proud of it)  
> this is the prequel, the origin story if you will, and i really hope you like it! 
> 
> (for reference stan is there the entire time, no attempted anything because thats a major trigger for me and i refuse to include it in my stories) 
> 
> hope you enjoy these two idiots in love! 
> 
> tw// minor blood/gore, temporary character death (eddie, and he's fine)

The first thing Richie registered was that he was no longer standing, he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten to the ground, and any attempts to think about the last moments of his life made him feel like crying for no apparent reason. So he redirected focus to what he could. His knees hurt like a bitch and his head was pounding like the worst hangover of his life on steroids, like someone was taking a jackhammer through his eyeballs. There were black spots in his vision and a loud ringing in his ears, leaving him senseless without a way to measure what was happening around him. When in the presence of a demon space clown whose every intent and purpose was to kill you and your friends, that wasn’t ideal. 

His limbs weren’t responding to him, which was something Richie knew he  _ should  _ be more worried about, but his emotions felt muted and off kilter, like they were being pressed through a strainer, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. The only pressing issue in his mind was getting rid of that fucking  _ ringing _ and finding out if Mike was okay, since that was the last thing he could truly remember - trying to protect Mike. He blinked another few times, letting his eyes roll backwards in his head and then attempting again to refocus. 

Blessedly the ringing began to ebb away. 

There was a firm hand on his shoulder which helped him draw his attention back into his surroundings. He knew it was Eddie immediately, if not because of his voice calling Richie’s name but by the strong grip of his hand on Richie’s arm. He would know Eddie’s touch in a lineup of a hundred men just like him. 

Richie blinked once, twice, then three more times in quick succession before his vision cleared enough to focus on Eddie’s face. Eddie, grinning and wide eyed with adrenaline and elation. Richie was acutely aware that if he had regained proper control over his facial muscles - or any muscles for that matter - he would have been mirroring that bright smile, but with a lot more ‘I’m so fucking in love with you’ thrown into the mix. On that note it might be lucky he hadn’t unlocked bodily movement yet. 

Richie realised Eddie’s mouth was moving so he tried his best to process the words, blinking blankly up at Eddie.   
“Richie! I think I did it! I think I killed IT!”

Then there was blood. 

The claw dug deep into Eddie’s rib cage, blood oozing from the wound and onto Richie’s front. His chest, his stomach, his face was smattered with it, with blood, with  _ Eddie’s _ blood. Bile rose in his throat, but instead of vomiting he heard himself croak, “Eddie.”   
It was a plea, for this to all be a horrible vision, for him to be back in the deadlights, because this vision was oh so familiar and in a horrifying rush he finally remembered what had filled those last few minutes of his life. 

“Richie,” Eddie choked out, the words catching on blood, the broken crack of his voice was a knife in Richie’s sternum. He didn’t have time to so much as raise his hand before Eddie was tossed away, his body flailing like a rag doll being discarded by a newly distracted toddler. 

Richie wasted no time scrambling to his feet and clamouring past IT’s scraping claws, the other Losers hot on his heels. Hysterically he recognised that it was lucky he could even move as he ran into the cavern where Eddie had been thrown.   
He looked so small, limbs splayed out and shaking like a leaf as the blood drained out of him like a punctured Caprisun, but alive, fucking  _ alive _ . Richie heard the others coming to a stop beside him but he didn’t spare them a glance as he crouched beside Eddie. 

“Eddie, fuck, Eddie look at me.” Richie cupped Eddie’s face, his left hand holding tight on Eddie’s uninjured cheek. It was a mirrored image from their childhood. Richie hadn’t remembered it until now, but now he couldn’t forget a detail of it. Pennywise slinking towards them, Bev’s screams in his ears, and Richie’s hand on Eddie’s cheek, turning his head so they were looking at each other and only each other.  _ Don’t look at it, nothing is happening, it’s just me Eds, look at me, it’s just me. Look at me.  _

Eddie coughed wetly, a groan of pain immediately following.  
“Don’t cry Rich,” he whispered, tentatively lifting his hand to cover Richie’s against his own cheek. Richie shook his head, swiping quickly at the tears spilling down his cheeks.   
“Gotta-” Eddie groaned again, cutting off his sentence before trying again. “Gotta make IT small. I had it small. I had my hands around its neck Rich. I was choking the leper and it seemed so weak. I didn’t believe it could hurt me, IT needs us to believe IT can hurt us.” 

Richie sobbed as Eddie blinked languidly at him. “Kinda looks like it can hurt us Eds.” He sounded hysterical even to his own ears but Richie couldn’t find it in himself to care. Eddie huffed a pained laugh, his eyes crinkling with fondness marred by a film of pain as he looked up at Richie.   
“Make it small,” Bev whispered from somewhere behind him and the others made noises of acknowledgement, a rushed conversation, a plan, started behind him, but Richie said nothing. He didn’t spare a glance away from Eddie. 

“I’m not leaving you, you’re insane if you think I’m leaving you, not even for a second,” Richie muttered, his words stringing together in a stream, like Eddie’s used to when he got worked up over something. 

Eddie shook his head. “Kill the clown, m’not going anywhere.” 

He didn’t want to leave. Even with Eddie pushing weakly at his arm and the sound of IT’s claws hitting and scraping at the rock walls and floor, Richie was determined to stay. 

It was Stan that shook him into movement. His scream was louder than anything Richie had heard in his entire life. The sound wasn’t scared, it was blood-curdling. It was angry.   
“You’re a fucking bitch!” Stan yelled, words echoing around the chamber as IT froze. Richie was pretty sure it was in shock, the inhuman yellow eyes set into the clown’s oversized head looked pretty damn surprised to him. 

“Make it small,” Eddie mumbled, almost incoherently and so quietly Richie only just heard it but the message was loud and clear. 

“You’re nothing more than a  _ clown _ ,” Richie bellowed, words hoarse from his tears.   
IT whimpered, like Richie had struck it across the face, as he had with the baseball bat, those 27 years ago.   
Stan grinned at him, his curls wild and stuck in every direction and the fury in his eyes terrifying in an exhilarating way; Richie found himself mirroring the expression. He stood from Eddie’s side, fulfilling his full height and stepping out into the cave. 

The others caught on immediately, following Stan and Richie’s lead.  
“You think you can hurt us, you piece of shit?” Bev hollered, her voice ringing against Richie’s eardrums and in the shells of his ears.   
Bill, Mike and Ben’s voices joined the cacophony of belittling directed at the creature of their nightmares. They hurled insults like projectiles in a war, the beast that had caused so much harm was reduced to a whimpering shell. 

Even Eddie’s voice mingled with theirs, softer and pained but so loud to Richie he might as well have been yelling directly into his ear.   
“You don’t fucking scare me.” Eddie’s words were by no means the loudest, but Richie watched with glee as they struck IT with a force as strong as the claw that had left Eddie bleeding on the floor. 

They screamed their voices hoarse until IT was cowering before them. Small, weaker than a newborn baby, and sobbing and pleading with the knowledge of a monster about to die.   
Richie stopped himself from wincing as Mike pulled IT’s still beating heart out of IT’s chest, but he didn’t stop himself from revelling in the inhuman screech of pain the creature wailed.   
“Look at you,” IT croaked, shrivelled face screwed up in agony as the standing Losers squeezed IT’s heart. “You’re all grown up.” 

The heart exploded in their hands, IT’s eyes going glassy. They allowed a few seconds of triumph, holding each other close, before Richie broke off to run back to Eddie. Blood was pooled around him, like the most horrifying spotlight Richie had ever seen. He was smiling at them, proud but weak, eyelids fluttering, barely remaining conscious. 

“We did it Eds,” Richie said softly, the tears returning with a vengeance. 

Eddie’s eyes peeled open, the warm brown of them meeting Richie’s like an embrace. Richie held tight to the eye contact in a vice grip to match his hold on both of Eddie’s shoulders.   
“I think it’s over Rich,” Eddie whispered, and Richie couldn’t tell if Eddie was talking about IT’s life or his own.   
Looking into Eddie’s eyes he felt like he was drowning, every ounce of love he had felt for this man from adolescence to now was filling him and he was suffocating in it. He was speaking before he could stop himself. 

“Is this a bad time to tell you that I’m ridiculously in love with you?” 

Eddie blinked at him for a moment, stunned into silence and then growled, punching him in the arm with a surprising amount of strength for a dying man.  
He hissed, “Yes you asshole! I’m dying this is the worst-” he sagged forward for a second, eyes rolling backwards like he was seconds away from passing out “- this is the worst... time.”   
He slumped into Richie’s arms and someone screamed. It took Richie a couple of seconds to realise it was him. 

His throat was raw as he sobbed as though somehow it would bring Eddie back. His fingers scrabbled for a pulse point which he never reached before strong arms were lifting him to his feet and tugging him out of the cave.   
“No! No!  _ No _ !” He screamed and lashed out in every direction. Someone was speaking but he couldn’t hear them over the blood rushing in his ears and pounding against his temples. 

His only coherent thought was  _ Eddie _ . 

It took a few poorly aimed punches at Mike’s arms and Stan grabbing his cheeks and screaming, “We have Eddie. Ben has Eddie, we have to  _ leave _ Richie, we have to get him to a hospital _ now _ ,” for Richie to collapse into submission and follow them. His body moved of its own accord, his puppeteer taking over control so Richie could ignore everything except for Eddie’s unconscious ( _ dead _ his mind not so kindly reminded him) frame hanging limply in Ben’s arms. 

Later he wouldn’t be able to recall anything from wading through grey water up to their waists, to arriving at the hospital and getting Eddie admitted. He wouldn’t remember how they had piled into a stolen car, too many people for the amount of seats but it didn’t matter because Eddie wasn't taking up a seat anyway, clutched in Richie and Ben’s arms, Stan pressing Richie’s jacket against his wound to stop the bleeding. He most certainly wouldn’t remember the stolen glances of the other Losers as he struggled to breathe through sobs, mumbling incoherently to Eddie in case he could somehow hear him, forehead pressed tightly against Eddie's jaw because he needed to be close to him like he needed to breathe. 

Eddie was whisked away so quickly Richie hadn’t realised they had left the car yet. He simply watched as a stream of nurses ran out to fetch him on a stretcher and then ran back inside, barking orders, taking him into emergency surgery. The remaining Losers were ushered into the hospital waiting room, Richie following numbly by the hold of Bev and Ben’s arms linked with his on either side. 

Inside Mike hollowly answered the hospital staff’s questions and Richie tried to hear the answers through the feeling of cotton wool stuffed into his ear canals.   
When that became too much Bev held his head on her lap, gentle tears trickling from her eyelashes as she stroked fingers through the curly mess of his hair, the hard plastic of the waiting room chairs sticking into their backs. Richie watched numbly as Bill mumbled his tongue twister to himself and paced the room. As Stan re-entered the room from a phone call to update his wife, fresh tear stains down his cheeks. Ben had moved to aid Mike in answering the endless stream of questions from nurses and doctors, and when that finished they both joined Stan on the chairs opposite Richie and Bev. They all waited. 

After a few hours Richie took to pacing the perimeter of the room. 

When the nurse entered the waiting room and informed them Eddie was now in a stable condition Richie sobbed so viciously he blacked out. His sobs rattled his rib cage and his eyes filled with white spots as he collapsed to the floor in a crumpled pile of limbs and relief.   
He didn’t hear it over the sound of his own breathing in his ears but the nurse informed them that they could visit two at a time. Richie was regaining feeling in his fingers past the overwhelming feeling of  _ thank god _ coursing through his veins when Stan hauled him to his feet and escorted him into Eddie’s room. His touch was a comforting and steady weight on both Richie’s shoulders, forceful in delivering Richie to his destination but gentle with kindness and understanding. 

“I’m so sorry,” Richie sobbed, clutching at Eddie’s hand. He knelt beside the bed, pressing the knuckles of Eddie’s hand to his cheek and revelled in the warmth of it, reminding him Eddie was alive, with Stan’s hand resting between his shoulder blades. A touch to remind Richie he was still there. They stayed that way until a nurse escorted them out so the other Losers could visit. 

~-~-~

Richie shifted for the fourth time in the last twenty minutes, trying to avoid permanently fucking up his back by cheap hospital chairs. If hitting stone in a death drop because of a lovecraftian monster wasn’t going to give him back problems, Richie sure as hell wasn’t letting cheap ass IKEA chairs be the final straw.   
Aside from mandated trips to shower and a change of clothes every day (20 minute round trips, Richie had made sure of it) he hadn’t left Eddie’s hospital room. The Losers brought him breakfast, lunch and dinner and sat with him while he ate it. Usually cheap sandwiches bought from the cafeteria downstairs or a piece of now cold toast they had prepared at the Townhouse before coming. Today’s lunch had been a ham sandwich brought by Stan. 

The routine was pretty steady after a couple of weeks and it was rare for Richie to be the only one in the room. All six of them needed to hear the reassuring steady beep of Eddie’s heart monitor to calm them. Richie wasn’t the only one who saw Eddie bleeding out whenever he closed his eyes. He was the only one to stay the night though, why the hospital staff let him he still didn’t know.   
Currently there were five of them in the room - including Eddie - Richie in the chair closest to Eddie’s bed, Stan reading in the corner of the room, Bev and Ben sitting together, Bev dozing off on Ben’s shoulder. 

Richie was alternating between mindlessly opening and closing the Twitter app, unable to decide which was worse: knowing what the internet was saying about him, or not knowing. Simultaneously he stared at Eddie’s heart monitor, watching the steady rise and fall of the line that reassured him Eddie was alive. 

He was on his twenty-second opening of the app when a croaky voice mumbled, “Richie?” 

His head snapped to look at Eddie so quickly his neck cracked. Sure enough Eddie was blinking at Richie, clearing sleep from his eyes, like he’d simply taken a short nap and not a fortnight long coma.   
“Eddie,” Richie breathed, the name calling the other Losers to attention immediately.   
He heard Bev mumble in protest, presumably because Ben had gotten to his feet and jostled her awake before she realised what the commotion was about and ran to meet the others at the bed. Stan was already at Eddie’s other side, so they were encircling him and blocking him off from the rest of the hospital room. 

“You all look like somebody died,” Eddie said sleepily, his voice hoarse from misuse.   
Richie huffed a wet laugh, tears gathering in his eyes which he swiped at with the back of his hand, pushing his glasses onto his forehead only to let them fall back down. “Fuck you dude.”   
“Fuck  _ you _ ,” Eddie parroted, smiling dopily at him. “I feel really floaty, like a balloon.”   
“Don’t talk about balloons. No excuses, even if you’re high on meds,  _ God _ Eddie,” Stan muttered, gently touching Eddie’s shoulder to get his attention.   
Eddie nodded seriously, wincing as the movement jostled his torso. “Right, the clown had balloon, lots of ‘em.” 

“I’m gonna go get a nurse,” Bev sniffed, smiling through her tears, scurrying out of the room.   
Ben reached out a hand to hold Eddie’s ankle through the blanket, a gentle touch to keep Eddie’s attention with them since his blinking had been slowing and he was definitely on the brink of falling asleep again.   
“Wanna go back to sleep,” Eddie pouted, confirming what Richie had already assumed.   
Richie smiled fondly down at him, his eyes definitely giving away the all-consuming affection he felt in a way that would have his teenage self in panicked hysterics, but then again he had already confessed his love, so there wasn’t much his fondness could give away. Richie kind of wanted to go into his own state of comatose just thinking about it. If he was lucky Eddie wouldn’t be able to remember the confession at all and Richie could live without the mortification of his straight best friend knowing he was in love with him. 

“Soon buddy, just wait for the nurse,” Richie assured him.   
Eddie stuck out his bottom lip in protest, and Richie found himself wishing that Eddie had enough strength and thought process to fight back as he usually would. Words and protests sharp like knives and glare heated as pavement on a summer’s day. 

Instead Eddie turned his head to look at Richie and mumbled sleepily, “Hold my hand?” 

“I-I uhm yeah sure,” Richie fumbled with the words like slippery soap, cheeks burning and eyes wide as he reached forward to intertwine his fingers with Eddie’s. His hand was lying on its back and Eddie’s on top, their palms pressed together and Eddie’s fingers slotted into the gaps between his knuckles.   
Stan smirked at him from over the bed and maturely Richie responded with a stuck out tongue before averting eye contact. Eddie squeezed his hand weakly and Richie felt his heart stutter in his chest as he copied the movement. 

He kept holding Eddie’s hand as they waited for the nurse to come and didn’t let go as the nurse spoke to him, nor when she left recommending he get some proper sleep. Even as the other Losers left the room, Bev kissing Eddie’s forehead gently and Stan brushing Eddie’s hair out of his eyes, Eddie never let go. 

Richie went to move away as Eddie’s eyes slipped shut, sure that Eddie had simply gotten too high on his pain meds to remember he was still holding fast to Richie’s hand; but he received in response to his attempt a drawn out whine and a tighter grip.   
“Stay?” Eddie whispered through a sleep heavy daze.   
There was something thick and emotional coating Richie’s throat, he swallowed around it and managed a raspy, “Sure Eds. I’ll stay.”   
Eddie fell back asleep seconds after Richie’s response with a soft smile ghosting on his lips. 

Mike and Bill dropped in about an hour into Eddie’s nap. Richie had taken to tracing the ridges and bumps of Eddie’s knuckles and fingers with the hand that wasn’t held tight in Eddie’s grip.   
They smiled knowingly at him which made something within Richie feel tight in a way he couldn’t explain. After decades of repressing this part of himself, the gay part, the  _ dirty little secret _ , his friends knew, and it hadn’t changed anything. He felt a familiar lump in his throat, a stinging behind his eyes, and took a few deep breaths to force the feeling away. 

“The others told us he woke up for a bit,” Bill whispered, careful not to wake Eddie.   
Richie nodded, “for about fifteen minutes.” He replicated Bill’s tone of whispering even though he was almost positive Eddie was completely out of it and wouldn’t be waking up for another couple of hours.   
Mike drew up two chairs for him and Bill and the three of them settled into relative silence, occasionally breaking it to chat about what they’d been up to in the last few days before lapsing back into comfortable silence. 

They left after another hour and Richie was left alone with Eddie once again. 

Eddie’s eyes blinked open again at around six that night, five hours after he initially woke. He stirred slightly first, shifting his shoulders up and down and wrinkling his nose. Richie was busy repressing an overwhelming urge to kiss him right on the scrunched tip of that nose when Eddie’s eyes focused on him. The dopey sleep-addled haze from earlier had dissipated leaving him clear minded and awake.  
Richie snatched his hand away quickly; stuffing it into his lap and digging the blunt ends of his nails into the soft flesh of his palm to keep from reaching out again. Eddie frowned in response but didn’t say anything. Richie didn’t really know how to interpret that. 

He simply watched, unable to find anything to say in the wake of a coherent Eddie. For the last couple of weeks he had been talking to a silent bed, desperately wishing Eddie would bite back a scathing remark, or huff a frustrated laugh at him, and yet when finally faced with what he had been dreaming of, Richie found himself silent.   
Eddie blinked at him, then shifted as though meaning to sit up before remembering his injuries with a hiss of pain.   
“How long was I out?” He gritted as he lowered himself back into the pillow, shuffling himself slowly and carefully so he could look at Richie easier. Meanwhile Richie tried to gather himself and appear less totally and utterly besotted with the man in front of him. He didn't know whether Eddie remembered his confession or not and he was certainly hoping for the latter. If nothing else, to avoid the overwhelming embarrassment of his straight married best friend knowing he loved him. 

When Eddie impatiently stared at him Richie remembered he had asked a question and hurried to answer it. 

“You were a lovely comatose patient for fifteen and a half days. Pretty impressive work Mr Kaspbrak if I do say so myself.” 

Eddie huffed a laugh. “I try.”   
Richie waited patiently as Eddie stretched his arms above his head experimentally, wincing at whatever muscle it twinged and cracking his neck to relieve some of the stiffness.   
“My back hurts like a bitch,” he complained, rubbing at the stiffness of his shoulders.   
Richie grinned, “Not as much as mine did after your mother was finish-” he was cut off by Eddie’s protests and a hand slapping at his face.   
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Eddie threatened, his pointed finger a hair away from Richie’s nose. His eyes had that familiar spitfire fury, burning like a rabid animal ready to take Richie’s arm off if he got too close but also tempting like a steaming hot bath in cold weather. Richie was infatuated with it, smiling dopily as Eddie stared at him pointedly, hackles raised in anticipation of a follow up joke. 

Instead of pushing it like he usually would Richie let the joke drop, mostly because he didn’t want Eddie to commit a murder on his first day of regaining consciousness, and even less wanted to be the murder victim.   
Instead he returned to their previous conversation. “Admittedly you did break three ribs and get kebabed through the stomach, I’m not surprised you’re a touch sore. Or did you forget?”   
Eddie scoffed, fiddling with the remote on the side of his bed to maneuver himself into a slightly more upright position. “Oh yeah totally dickhead, I absolutely forgot about the time an alien clown skewered me on his claw.” 

“It might be nice to forget something like that,” Richie said noncommittally, leaning backwards against the unforgiving back of the chair with hands folded on the nape of his neck. “Might be good to forget it all.”   
Eddie shook his head. “Load of good that did us last time.” Ever the realist. 

Richie was speaking before he could stop himself, a habit he had exercised since childhood; his mouth running its course as his brain formulated a wittier response he would never get to use, leaving him to pick up the pieces when he inevitably said something he regretted. It was his sure fire ticket to getting beat up by all the usual bullies back in the ‘good old days’. Now it meant reminding Eddie of things Richie should be leaving deep within the closet (ah the irony) to gather dust. 

“Well maybe there’s things I’m hoping you’ve forgotten.” 

Eddie’s eyes widened and Richie shrunk in on himself, preparing for the mental blow that would soon follow.   
“Why would you want me to forget?” Eddie asked, staring at Richie incredulously, as if he couldn’t fathom Richie’s reasoning for wanting this conversation to be swept under the rug.   
His sentiment wasn’t what Richie was preparing himself for, which was equal parts good and bad. Good in that he wasn’t spewing homophobic slurs and screaming for Richie to get out of his life, bad that Richie wasn’t anticipating them, and when Richie wasn’t anticipating something he did what he knew best, deflected.

“Forget what Eds?” 

Eddie huffed in frustration. If Richie wasn’t so terrified he could have danced in joy at the sound, one he’d been craving since Eddie had been taken from him.   
Eddie began counting points on his fingers with more aggression than truly necessary. “Okay first of all, don’t call me that. Second of all, I don’t have any memory loss until I passed out in the car so we both know  _ exactly  _ what I’m talking about.”   
Richie shook his head empathetically. “Can’t say I do Eduardo.” 

“When you told me… When you said you…” Eddie seemed to lose confidence as he spoke, growling angrily as he fumbled for the right words. In a different situation Richie would be grinning fondly as he watched Eddie try to deal with his inability to handle things in a delicate manner, whilst also trying not to be insensitive, and instead just ending up with a splice of frustration and concern. Despite that he found himself marking all possible exits in the case of this conversation continuing to delve into feelings he would rather leave untouched. 

Eddie swallowed roughly. “I want to talk about it, I don’t know why you don’t want to talk about it.” 

Richie’s fear of the conversation started to molt into unfounded irritation, Eddie’s words were striking at cords he didn’t even know existed.   
“Sure Eddie, I can't think of a  _ single  _ good reason I wouldn’t want to talk about it.”   
Eddie ground his teeth, a habit Richie recognised from their youth. Every time Eddie was trying not to let anger towards Richie build, prompting him to say something he would regret.   
“I can’t! You’re the one who brought it up!” 

Which was a fair point, but Richie was past the point of seeing things as just or unjust so he snapped back defensively.   
“Well maybe I regret bringing it up, so can we just  _ drop it _ .” Richie folded his arms tightly over his chest, protecting himself from Eddie’s next blow. 

“No! Just talk to me! Or do you-” Eddie startled as though only just realising something, the angry furrow of his brows slipping to leave raw vulnerability behind. “Do you regret what you said?” His voice was softer than before, still rough and sharp at the edges in that way Eddie always was, but timid as well, like he used to be in front of his mother. “Do you not…”  _ Do you not love me?  _ He still didn’t say it, but Richie heard the unspoken question all the same. 

Richie swallowed around the sharp needles that were lodged in his throat. He ducked his head to avoid eye contact, honing on the unkempt ridges of his nail beds instead and picking his words slowly and carefully.   
“I do… love you, that is.”   
When Eddie made a noise to interrupt he hurried to keep speaking.   
“I do regret telling you though…” He paused for too long, considering how to deliver his insecurities in a way that wouldn’t leave his skin torn open and his insides presented for Eddie to observe. 

“Why?” Eddie asked softly, more patient than Richie had ever heard him before. He chanced a look up at him and immediately regretted it. His brown eyes were soft and imploring, always so emotive, those eyes would one day be the death of Richie. 

“Because you’re  _ married _ Eddie!” Richie exclaimed, losing control of his words once again, succumbing to the panic vibrating against his rib cage. “Because you’re  _ married _ and  _ straight _ and I only just got you back and then I nearly lost you again! I can’t lose you because I’m too gay to fucking control myself. I can’t.” 

Eddie’s jaw went slack, staring at Richie as though he’d slapped him across the face, gorgeous eyes blinking at him as he remained painfully silent. Richie squirmed under the force of his gaze, the silence creeping under his skin and leaving an uncomfortable itch there.   
“Okay? Now you're not saying anything? I thought you wanted to talk about it?” Richie interrupted the silence with a distinct lack of tact, but in his defense, he’d never had much practise at thinking before he spoke. 

Eddie made a low noise, a strange sound, somewhere between trying not to kill Richie and something pained and contemplative.   
“Sorry I’m just, there’s so much to unpack there,” Eddie said finally, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. 

Richie let the words tumble from his mouth. “Well then let’s not unpack it, let’s leave it and never speak about this again and you can pretend you never hear what I said and-” 

“- I’m not straight.”

The words stunned Richie into silence. He could almost see his thoughts turn to static, a singular ‘Error: Could Not Be Found’ message stamped onto his forehead.   
“What?” He asked dumbly, staring straight into the eyes of the beast, or in this case the unwavering yet sheepish gaze of Eddie Kaspbrak. 

“I’m not straight,” Eddie repeated and then further clarified, “I’m gay. I forgot I was for a few decades, but yeah, I’m gay.”   
Richie opened his mouth to respond, to say something along the lines of thanking Eddie for trusting him, but instead he just let out a breathy “Huh.” He couldn’t find the vocal range to say anything more. Fortunately Eddie always knew how to pick up where Richie left off, and now that the ball was rolling there was no stopping him. 

“Also, not married. Well, technically still married by the law, but I called Myra and asked for a divorce after the Jade. She didn’t take it well and now that I’m thinking about it I’ve dropped off the face of the Earth for two weeks following that announcement so I need to call her and clarify all that I guess. Either way, we’re getting a divorce because even without the whole gay thing we were really bad for each other and I basically married my mother, don’t say a  _ fucking  _ word.” Eddie cut Richie off before he could even think to open his mouth, pushing himself forward and up off the pillow so he could put heat behind his glare .

“So to summarise.” Eddie chopped both his hands through the air to emphasise the word. “I’m gay, I have a divorce in process and I’m  _ very _ in love with you.”   
The last part was punctuated with a small fond smile directed at Richie.

Eddie slumped back into the pillow, already exhausted with that small amount of physical exertion.   
Meanwhile Richie waited for any amount of cognitive or physical ability to return to his body. Eddie had taken a knife to the record that was Richie’s brain and now he had a loop of “ _ I’m very in love with you”  _ filling every cell and taking all other capabilities completely away from him. 

“ _ Oh _ ,” he finally managed. Blinking the lovesick daze from his eyes to meet Eddie’s tender frustration was like a dream. If this was an IT fuelled hallucination, Richie would take it a million times over if it meant seeing Eddie look at him like that. “Me? Are you sure?”   
Eddie stared at him like he’d grown a second head, his voice interlaced with disbelieving laughter. “No! I was practising on you to confess to fucking  _ Bill _ ! Yes  _ you _ ! Fucking dumbass.” 

“But I… But I told you I loved you and you called me an asshole,” Richie mumbled, trying to fit the pieces together into the whole picture but it felt like Eddie was holding the final piece in his palm. “You punched me.”   
“Richie, I was  _ dying _ , it was the worst possible time to confess!” Eddie exclaimed, the frustrated gleam in his eyes returning in a dangerous way. “I was literally on the cusp of unconsciousness, I couldn’t even kiss you like I wanted!”   
Eddie looked ferocious in his determination to make Richie understand, but Richie’s brain had snagged on a different train of thought. 

“You wanted to kiss me?” 

Eddie blinked, coming to a pause with his hand mid slice of the air. “I  _ want _ to kiss you,” he corrected. “Present tense.” 

A noise clawed itself from Richie’s throat, high pitched and so wanting it made Richie's face catch alight with embarrassment. He wanted to crawl under the bed and sink into the floor until he became one with the hospital tarmac, but Eddie’s expression kept him rooted to the spot. The way his pupils had darkened at Richies involuntary reaction pooled heat into the base of Richie’s stomach and rendered him utterly imobile, unable to clamber into hiding even if he wanted to. Not with the way Eddie was taking him apart with just his eyes.

“You have three seconds to get over here and kiss me or I’m going to try to kiss you myself,” Eddie warned. “And my stitches aren’t strong enough for that kind of movement.”   
Richie took the step between the chair and the bed without a moment's hesitation, crowding into Eddie’s space, his thighs pressing uncomfortably into the metal edge of the hospital bed.

He leaned down slowly, one hand coming to rest on the slope of Eddie’s neck. He hesitated with their lips millimetres apart, silently asking Eddie if he was actually okay with this.   
Impatient as ever, Eddie pushed the rest of the way to close the distance between them. It was surprisingly chaste, over as quickly as it started, nothing more than a brush of lips; but Richie felt it like an electric bolt snapping down his spine, from the tingling of his lips to the tips of his toes. It was nothing like he had imagined and so much more. He had always assumed that if he ever got to kiss Eddie, and by some miracle Eddie had wanted to kiss him back, that it would be a culmination of all those years of waiting, forceful, scalding and Earth shattering. Instead it was gentle and delicate, like a lifelong promise finally fulfilled.  
It tasted like long nights reading comic books, and popcorn-butter fingers brushing in the darkness, like limbs tangled together in a hammock, eye rolls and laughter. 

They didn’t pull away far, Eddie’s lips were so close his breath still fanned across Richie’s face. Richie opened his eyes first, desperate to see Eddie and realise maybe, this was real. Surely, this was too raw to not be real.   
He watched as Eddie’s eyes fluttered open, like waking up from a dream just to smile at Richie. The worn crinkles around his eyes sent Richie’s heart thumping against the walls of his rib cage. He didn’t look like he regretted anything, in fact he looked  _ happy _ , like he wanted more. The glint in his eye gave the impression he was going to take more, and Richie welcomed it willingly.

This time, as Eddie surged forward to reconnect their lips, there was nothing gentle about it. This was the explosion, the force, this was the product of two decades of being drawn towards every short, angry brunette man in bars and then making himself turn away because boys didn’t look at other boys like that.   
Eddie’s lips were burning hot, dragging and pushing into Richie as if he was the air he needed to breathe. Their mouths were hot and bruising, an addictive push and pull of their lips, consuming and powerful like nothing Richie had ever felt.   
Richie used the press of his thumb under Eddie’s chin to tip his head back, deepening the angle of their kiss. He felt Eddie’s responsive groan resonate through him, warming him to the bone. 

His knees went weak as Eddie’s tongue pushed into his mouth, the static in his brain humming. He never thought, never in a million years did he consider that Eddie would want this too, it still didn’t feel real. Like any second from now Eddie would realise he didn’t want this, not with Richie: He pulled away with a pop, his voice hoarse as he asked, “Are you sure you want this? Because-” Eddie growled, slotting their mouths together like a promise, his tongue licking behind Richie’s teeth, pushing into Richie like he couldn’t get enough of him. 

A low needy noise made its way from Richie’s throat as Eddie’s hands trailed their way from his shoulders to his hair, his fingers winding between strands and tugging. The tension on his curls sending jolts of electricity down his spine and into the tips of his fingers. This time he wasn’t self conscious as he groaned, not with Eddie fucking Kaspbrak’s hands in his hair and tongue in his mouth, Richie didn’t have it in himself to feel much of anything aside from all encompassing joy. 

When they finally drew apart for air, Eddie’s hands slipped down to trail along Richie’s jaw, tucking a mussed piece of hair behind his ear, the pads of his fingers brushing against the shell. The tenderness in his expression made something warm and fuzzy squirm in Richie’s stomach, pleasant but so foreign it seemed to itch at his skin.   
“Be my boyfriend?” Richie spoke into the small space between them, the silence too much for him to bear on top of the unknown of this new space they had entered. 

Eddie made a dismissive scoff, but the wild grin in his eyes gave away his true feelings towards the question. “Sounds so middle school.” He ghosted his fingertips against the curve of Richie’s cheek, “but obviously yes.”   
Richie smiled, leaning forward to steal another kiss, because he  _ could.   
_ “I feel like I owe the title to middle school me, he would’ve died,” he replied when they pulled apart again.   
“You had a crush on me in middle school?” Eddie asked, his eyes wide with disbelief. 

Richie nodded and hummed into a gentle press of Eddie’s lips against his. “Yeah man, I fell in love with you at the ripe age of 12 when you got so worked up over a debate we were having that you stole my glasses and accidentally broke them.”   
Eddie laughed at the memory, leaning his head forward to rest on Richie’s shoulder. “God I felt so bad about that.”   
Richie hummed again, thumbing among Eddie’s jaw self indulgently. “You shouldn’t have, gave me an excuse to get myself up close and personal under the vise of ‘not being able to see’ worked like a charm on a certain cutie.” He dug his fingers pointedly into a soft spot of Eddie’s side. “And obviously it was a real winner with Mrs K.” He tacked on, unable to resist the pull of a low-hanging mum-joke. 

“Motherfucker,” Eddie hissed over poorly concealed laughter, shoving at Richie’s shoulders with the palms of his hands weakly.   
“That is the idea,” Richie laughed, ducking a well aimed swat at the side of his head. Eddie preempted that move and flicked Richie’s ear as he attempted to sit up.   
“I can’t believe I’m in love with you,” he sighed, acting dejected and instead just sounding affectionate. 

Richie shrugged loosely, gratefully squeezing into the space on the bed beside Eddie as he offered, leaning over to press his cheek against Eddie’s hair he asked, “How did that happen by the way?”   
He tried not to react embarrassingly as Eddie took his hand in his, toying with his fingers and running his thumb along the ridges of his palm. “How did I fall in love with you?”   
Richie nodded into the crown of Eddie’s hair, not trusting himself to speak as Eddie gently pressed their palms together only to trail his fingers along the underside of Richie’s wrist, flipping his hand over and repeating the process. It was as though he wanted nothing more than to casually touch Richie, to learn the dips and crevices of his skin. 

“It was after that summer. You snuck in my window when I told you I’d been having nightmares about it all, about Pennywise. You held me until I fell asleep… I’d never felt so safe.”

Richie swallowed roughly, feeling like something tense and emotional had taken a fist to his throat. Instead of articulating it, he delivered the feeling to Eddie under the guise of a stupid joke, in true Richie fashion. “So we would have been thirteen… ha! I win!” Judging by the look on Eddie’s face the injured man understood the unspoken words between the crevices of Richie’s comment, but that didn’t stop him from rising to the challenge. 

“What the fuck do you mean you win?” He snapped. 

Richie pointed to himself. “I win. I’ve been in love with you longer!”   
Eddie scoffed, “Not everything has to be a fucking challenge dipshit.”   
“Spoken like somebody who just lost.”   
“I didn’t lose! There’s no winners or losers in this!”   
Richie shook his head solemnly, “Here I was thinking you were a good sport, and yet you hath proven me wrong.” 

“What the fuck, I’m a great sport. You’re just being an asswipe and making everything fucking competitive because you have a superiority complex and-”  
Richie propped his chin on his hand as Eddie pushed himself back from their entanglement of limbs to properly scold him. Eddie wasn’t deterred by the lovesick grin on his face, getting too into their playful back and forth as he always did, the intense reaction Richie had always tried to draw out of him. 

For the first time however, Richie cut him short, finally able to say what he was always thinking. Rolling his shoulders and dramatically biting his lip he made an exaggerated moan and drawled, “Oh yeah Eds. Tell me why I’m a terrible person, really gets me going.” 

Eddie cut off mid sentence with a laugh that he poorly disguised as a cough, the anger of his expression giving way to a fond brand of exasperation.   
“You’re so stupid.”   
Richie grinned and threw his head back with a porn-star style moan, loud enough that Eddie hurriedly shoved a hand over his mouth to quiet him, laughter finally spilling over his lips. 

Eddie released his hand from Richie’s mouth seconds before he licked it, replacing it with his own mouth which was something  _ else _ entirely. Their lips danced with each other’s lazily for a few beats before Eddie pulled back just far enough to say, “We can’t tell the Losers we’re together. The fact that I’m attracted to you is the most humiliating thing I could ever tell them.”   
Richie’s laughter exploded out of him, right from the core of his belly and into the air. 

“I’m wounded Eds, wounded,” he lamented, tipping his head back and clutching at his chest as though shot through the chest. 

“So sad,” Eddie deadpanned.   
Richie’s heart thumped painfully against his chest as Eddie leaned in with a wicked grin, their noses bumping and his hands grabbing at the collar of Richie’s shirt to tug him onto his lap. 

“Would you like me to kiss it better?” 

Those words from Eddie’s (Eddie fucking goddamn Kaspbrak’s) mouth drew an honest to God whimper out of Richie. He inhaled sharply and let it out in a rush as he settled onto Eddie’s lap, his legs straddled on either side of him, being careful not to touch the bandages that covered most of his torso.   
“Yeah that sounds necessary,” Richie exhaled, his words cut off by the lingering kiss Eddie pressed to his lips. 

“Did that help?” Eddie asked with a smirk, clearly aware he had drawn away before Richie could really respond to their kiss.   
Richie grinned wolfishly, tipping his head so his words were whispered directly into Eddie’s lips. 

“I think I need a couple more, just to be sure.” 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked it!! 
> 
> i'm on both twitter ([frecklylance](https://twitter.com/frecklyIance)) and tumblr ([frecklyylance](https://frecklyylance.tumblr.com/)) so if you wanna come chat with me i'd love to hear from you!  
> thanks for reading!!!


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